Shadowland. Spider World 06 by Colin Wilson

Was this central tower, he wondered, the Magician’s quarters? The window immediately below him was covered with a cage of black metal, and he directed the raven down to perch on one of its crossbars, taking the precaution of making it choose the end rather than the middle, to make itself less conspicuous. A few feet away from him, their backs to a doorway, two armed guards stood rigidly at attention in a dimly lit corridor. They were so still that Niall found himself wondering if they were dummies. Then he saw, on the wall facing them, two green lights glowing like the eyes of a cat — the mechanical eyes that Niall had noted in the corridors of the palace. Their purpose clearly was to make everyone feel under constant observation.

Niall directed the bird to fly onto the next window, and again to perch at the end of the crossbar. This room was well lighted and, as he had expected, it was the Magician’s chamber. The walls were covered with glass cupboards containing scientific apparatus, but the room’s most striking feature was a column of light that stretched from floor to ceiling, shining with a soft, blue glow that seemed almost alive. It reminded Niall of a similar column in the center of the white tower, although this was less wide. Clouds of darkness, like rising bubbles, drifted toward the ceiling as if through a liquid.

At a bench near the far wall, the Magician was standing, his back to the window, holding a test tube close to his eyes and gently shaking its contents.

Overcome by an illogical intuition of danger, Niall made the bird leave its perch and fly down to the top of a crenellated wall above the courtyard. There he watched an officer addressing a squad of men, all typical cliff dwellers, who were standing at ease. Niall observed immediately that they had Reapers rather than rifles propped against their sides.

The officer, whom Niall recognized as Jelko, the commander of the Palace Guard, was talking to them with a fierce earnestness that was reflected in their attentive faces. Unfortunately, the raven’s brain was poorly adapted for telepathic reception, and Niall was unable to catch more than the occasional word. He would have given a great deal to know why they were all looking so serious.

A soldier in the front row asked a question, and this time Niall could hear the reply quite clearly: “Shoot back, but be careful. These things are deadly.”

At that moment, a large magpie tried to settle beside the raven, which squawked angrily at this invasion of its space. Jelko glanced up at the birds, and suddenly gazed intently. To Niall’s horror, the raven became paralyzed, held in a concentrated beam of will-force. Its legs buckled; but since it was standing in the crenelation, it was prevented from falling. The magpie toppled and dropped to the ground. Niall instantly exerted his own will-force and broke the spell; the officer gazed with astonishment as the raven flew away.

Niall had learned an important lesson: that in the Magician’s palace, not even a bird was safe.

For the next quarter of an hour, he directed the raven to fly all around the rooftops of the palace. He was curious to know why it was so big. The reason, he soon discovered, was that it was virtually a town in itself. The courtyards were thronged with women, as well as men, all obviously cliff dwellers. Again, everything was unnaturally silent. But it was clear that the men and women were allowed to live together, for several large buildings were obviously married quarters, with washing lines strung across the courtyards.

Beyond the back of the palace, on the far side of its outermost wall, there was a gray, utilitarian building that looked oddly out of place; built of square concrete blocks, it might have been a factory or warehouse on the second level. From inside came the hum of machinery and the clink of bottles. Niall directed the raven to perch on the windowsill.

Beyond the grimy glass, half a dozen women were working on either side of a moving belt that carried bottles; these were being filled with a white liquid that flowed from a pipe above the belt. Niall, totally unfamiliar with factories and conveyor belts, had no idea what he was looking at.

At this point he was abruptly drawn back to his body and its bruises. Someone was trying to probe his mind. His first thought was that it was his mother, attempting to restore contact, and he opened his mind to become receptive — a state similar to listening intently for some faint sound. But after half a minute, the sensation went away. Then the light outside his cell door was turned on, and there was a sound of a bolt being withdrawn.

The man who came in was a hunchback, and even in this poor light it was obvious that he was one of the Magician’s “experiments.” One eye was normal; one was so large that it stuck out of his face like a tennis ball. His nose was also grotesquely large, and twisted to one side. He was carrying a tray, which he placed on the bed. This contained a small piece of bread and a cup of water.

Niall realized suddenly that his watch was missing. He asked: “What time is it?”

He spoke telepathically, but the jailer replied in normal speech: “I can’t tell you that.”

Niall asked: “Why? Don’t you know?”

The man said stolidly: “I can’t tell you that.”

He had some speech impediment, as if his tongue was too big for his mouth. Without a further word, he turned and left the cell. The light outside went out.

Niall was hungry. In spite of the swollen lip, he ate the bread quickly and drank the water. This had an unpleasant taste, like oil. A few minutes after drinking it, he began to feel sick, and had no doubt that it had contained an emetic.

In the corner of the cell there was a bucket covered with a wooden lid. Niall fell on his knees in front of it and vomited. It must have been a strong emetic, for the convulsions continued long after his stomach was empty. After this he sat down with his back against the wall, shivering and exhausted.

He staggered across the cell, stretched out on the bed, and covered himself with the blanket. He was still feeling weak, and drifted into a semisleep.

While he was lying there, feeling completely exhausted and vulnerable, he experienced a sudden vivid memory of Veig. It was so clear that it was as if Veig’s face was looking at him from the semidarkness. Niall started; in the events of the past few hours, he had forgotten all about his brother. Now he experienced a despairing sense that he had betrayed Veig and condemned him to death.

This brought back the memory of Typhon asking him how many days it was since Veig had been poisoned, and when Niall told him, replying: “There’s still plenty of time.” Did Typhon know what was going to happen? Was he involved in this plot to throw him into prison? And if so, how about Gerek? Niall could have sworn that both were honest, but as he lay there thinking, he began to experience doubts. The result was a sinking feeling that drained him of energy.

And why was he in prison? Because his pride had revolted at the idea of being treated as one of the Magician’s subjects. But he was not one of his subjects. He and the Magician were fellow sovereigns; he had every right to be treated with respect.

And then, of course, there was the odd fact that the Magician wanted his people to think that Niall and the spider were merely envoys. What was his motive?

With his head buzzing with fatigue and his stomach still churning with nausea, Niall found it hard to think clearly, or to make the logical connections that might show him the solution to these problems.

To distract his mind, he tried working out how long it had been since Veig had cut himself on the ax. It had happened on a Friday, and early on Sunday morning he had left for Shadowland. . . By recalling the events of each day, he was able calculate that this must be Monday, and that his brother had only eighteen days left.

At this thought, his cheeks began to burn, and his heart pounded until he was afraid it would burst. For the next ten minutes, he felt more depressed and helpless than he had ever felt in his life. It began to look as if the Magician had won, and Niall would be forced to do whatever he wanted.

His problem, he could now see very clearly, was that he was too young and immature to possess the mental toughness that would enable him to withstand the pressure of a man whose greatest obsession was forcing others to do his will. To develop this inner strength required long self-discipline, of the kind possessed by the monk Sephardus.